The continuous learning curve

So how has my season gone so far? Well let’s put it this way – with all the wake up calls I’ve had so far, I should be an insomniac! So why hasn’t it gone to plan? Firstly the pressure of leaving teaching has made me try far too hard. Additionally I’ve been long listed for the 2* event team (for the European championship to be held in the UK in 2011) whilst I am thrilled, inevitably this has added to the pressure I put upon myself. I don’t want to be mediocre, I don’t want to be average; I want to be as good as I know I can be. At the moment, I just seem to be doing a great job in sabotaging my own success. I accept that competing in any sport involves constant development; I just want to create a learning curve with a steadier incline – to eradicate the dips.

My self-belief has been shaky for a while – no reason in particular although exacerbated by my health scare last autumn. Inevitably this has a negative impact upon my state of mind; for me, this is the most detrimental factor upon my performance. When I venture beyond my comfort zone, push myself to the next level (the time when I need extra resilience) the doubts creep in. They enter through devious channels and in unexpected ways; they make me view things in an entirely negative light and beat myself up for minor mistakes. Most significantly, they make me physically tense during competitions which impacts (quite drastically) upon my horse’s performance.

Following a disappointing three-day performance at Houghton Hall in May (where I let myself down, my horse down, my husband down, my trainers down... even my dogs down ) I sought out a sports psychologist recommended to me via word of mouth; this method of sourcing seemed preferable to the media hype surrounding the mind-bending promises I found on-line. The Mind &Body Guru offered me ‘A new body, mind and way of thinking...’ for only £300 a month I was promised personal, instant counselling. Although the hype sounded amazing (really?) clearly it wasn’t a viable option. I decided to go for the local, cheaper version. I arrived at his ‘office’ – a shabby porta-cabin in the middle of a small-holding. Well, I reminded myself, I had opted for this over the glitzy, gilded guru for economic reasons, so I couldn’t really judge the location.

I had to hang around for a while before he appeared, apologetic for having been stuck in traffic and glistening slightly due to the heat. He didn’t strike me instantly as someone who might inspire me with confidence, but I tried desperately hard to keep an open mind. He sat me down in his rather ramshackle office where pictures of successful sports men and women peppered the walls; presumably testaments to his success. My optimism given a slight boost, I wondered if maybe he could help me after all. Even despite the distraction of his rather bizarre goatee beard (it looked rather like a tramline running down the groove of his chin; all I could think was why? What did it really achieve?) He lectured me about the theory of sports psychology when what I wanted was practical ways of managing my nerves; frustratingly, all I could focus upon was his chin. I left feeling disappointed and disillusioned. When he contacted me a few weeks later to suggest a follow up ‘deep cleansing’ session, all I could do was laugh hysterically.

I have worked hard on managing my nerves since; finding practical solutions of my own which help me to stay in the zone. I have been better; I’ve managed to keep softer hands (the key to my success) in all three phases. Yet I still manage to make the most frustrating blunders. The latest was at Barbary Horse Trials; selected deliberately as a high profile event where I could test myself under pressure. The first two phases (dressage and show jumping) were more measured on my part; not perfect, but nonetheless better. The final phase (x-country) doesn’t usually cause me as much concern as I can ride in my positive, attacking mode; yet this time, for some unknown reason, I rode a sequence of fences in a particularly random way, resulting in Bow deciding to run past one. Totally my fault. Totally frustrating. The course was relatively straightforward. I really can’t explain what came over me. All I need to do is to ride more consistently, so why can’t I do that? I can and I will...

....Our next big test is The Festival of British Eventing, held at Gatcombe at the beginning of August, where Bow and I are entered for the Intermediate Championship. It will be our first time competing there. It will be our first attempt at advanced level. I must ride at my bravest , at my best and at my most consistent....It really is a case of mind over matter......at least I hope it is....

The final few furlongs....

During the summer term I become the Scrooge of sunshine. Attempting to teach thirty sweaty teenagers in a classroom hotter than your average sauna is not my favourite occupation. Imagine the consequences of rising temperatures: the mood swings increase in velocity and frequency; the battle of body odour and deodorant becomes more volatile; picking up a pen requires a super-human effort. My role as a variety show entertainer is replaced by that of cajoler, nag and eventually slave driver. Students who previously hung off my every word (well some words) can barely keep their concentration inside the classroom.

With less than three weeks to go until the end of term I am beginning to adjust to the concept of life beyond the institution; aided in this by the unsettled atmosphere which perpetually prevails in a secondary school at this time of year. Primary schools can busy themselves with nature trails, treasure hunts or the school play. The high school timetable is polarized between academic pressure and the constant interruptions of more serious extra-curricular activities; Duke of Edinburgh expeditions, sporting fixtures and extra-curricular activities prioritise student's energy. Admittedly these are all worthy endeavours which broaden the children's minds and reduce their risk of obesity. However they also seem to mysteriously drain any remnant of academic thirst or self motivation they might once have had. Setting work becomes impossible, 'Oh we won't be here to hand it in miss, we'll be in The Forest of Dean....' or 'We won't be able to finish this on Wednesday miss, it's sports day..'



It's the time of year when even the most affable students become awkward, evasive and even hysterical; when the lovely child becomes an ogre. Already made fractious by the heat and the lure of sunshine they become increasingly disinclined to work. The enticingly imminent prospect of the long, lazy summer holiday merely exacerbates the problem. They 'don't see the point of poetry', 'can't be bothered with the Brontes and tell me (more often than usual) that 'Shakespeare sucks'. My constant nagging is met with a barrage of increasingly elaborate excuses; 'I'm sorry miss, I couldn't do my homework because I was making cakes for the school fete...' (funny that - we don't have one!) or 'Sorry miss, I couldn't finish my course work 'cos I was working on my tan...It is really important miss, I don't want to be too white on the beach do I?.'....How do you respond to such rational arguments? The sixth form don't argue, they just absent themselves by finding countless university open days to attend; in all honesty, are they ever likely to attend the University of Newquay or The college of Cornwall? 'Maybe not miss, but they do have great beaches....'



You might think that because I'm leaving, I could match their apathy. That I could respond with 'You are right, Shakespeare is stupid....don't bother to finish that essay.. or let's forget 'Frankenstein' . I would just say 'Forget everything; let's sunbathe!' If it weren't for my love of Literature and for my conscience I might do just that. Yet I feel compelled to tie up every loose end and make things tidy for my successor; my conscience wins. We will complete our course work, we will write those essays and we will practice our precis. Yes, this will become a power struggle but the teenage tantrums will also ease my departure.... they will be a reality check - a reminder of the trials of teaching; that I've only loved nearly every minute of it all...